


The Gambit

by lettuchi, moon-faced-pear-shaped (lettuchi)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, NERO - Fandom, NERO LARP
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Post-Trespasser, Romance, Solas Romance, Solas Spoilers, Solavellan, Stone Elf, Stone Elves, Trespasser Spoilers, nero - Freeform, nero larp - Freeform, sovellan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:25:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5555903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettuchi/pseuds/lettuchi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettuchi/pseuds/moon-faced-pear-shaped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas and Taethath find themselves in the world of Tyrra, where both the magic and the stakes are very different than the world of Thedas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "I will never forget you."

“I will never forget you…” 

Taethath, of Clan Lavellan, felt the pulsing magic of the Anchor dim as the green light, the evidence of its power, started to fade from around her left hand. In its place was pain, a dull ache that was quickly building to a sharp sear. 

Solas was closing the short distance between her and the eluvian with slow, measured steps. His confidence seemed as sure as his armored shoulders, straightening as he approached the mirror.

Taethath wrenched herself up from her knees, and staggered forward. 

The burning that originated in her palm had spread up her arm and flared into her torso. The pain cleared her mind's eye to a blank plane of white. Taethath shook her head. As she lifted her gaze again toward the shining of the activated eluvian, her mental canvas became chequered with precisely ordered squares of the deepest dark unfettered by the limits of what her sight could comprehend. It was the bare gameboard of the bishop’s gambit. 

Somewhere beyond those shapes was an anger she had never before entertained. A rage, a visceral reaction to the betrayal that had just played out before her: it was within her but it was not entirely hers alone. 

Taethath took in a sharp breath as the pain of her decaying arm stabbed at her, her white flesh greying as it was divested of the magic keeping it viable. 

Somewhere far off, she heard her name called, lilted in an accent neither Dalish nor human. _Taethath! Go, Taethath, go after him!_

Solas didn't change his pace or seem to mind her at all. It was as if he was sure that the pain, which was starting to dominate Taethath’s awareness, would stop her pursuit long before any physical intervention would be needed. After pausing a beat, he began to step through the rippling surface of the magical glass.

With a desperate scream that revealed a primal ferocity, she flung her heavy, leaden limbs up the last few stone steps to the eluvian. Reaching with her left hand, barely glowing with what magic yet lingered, and grasping with the right, she gripped what remained of Solas’ forearm. As if it was a lifeline securing her on the edge of a crumbling cliff, she pulled herself through the watery field of the eluvian, feeling the ancient elvhen magic beginning to solidify the surface behind her.


	2. Sodden Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rainy arrival.

Solas, in all of his trappings as the Dread Wolf, landed on sodden ground with an undignified thump and rattle. His knees and palms, covered in fine chainmail, sank into dark mud as he pressed himself up, only to be greeted with a face full of rain. Large drops plinked off his armor as he looked about for orienting details with only dim moonlight to guide his eye.

This was not where the eluvian was supposed to lead. After a few seconds in the roar of the rain, he shivered with a start. He could not feel the familiar tingle of the Veil. The absence of the sensation was accompanied with a smouldering queasiness in his stomach. 

Solas stood, boots slipping in the slick earth. He turned around sharply, looking for any sign of Taethath’s body in the shadows of the pines that surrounded him. A flash caught his eye uphill, and he saw the silhouette of a woman, prone but moving. “Inquisitor!” He tested his voice against the noise of the storm. When she didn’t respond, he tried again. It came out harsher than he intended from the effort of overcoming the din. 

She lifted her head, the outline of her long ears distinct even in the dark. “Solas?” The higher pitch of her voice cut through the space without raggedness. “Solas, stay there,” she said. She stood, feeling ahead clumsily in the dark, nearly falling herself. 

“No, you can’t see! I will come to you!” Solas said as he began to climb the steep hill, not without difficulty. When he reached her, he fought the urge to embrace her outright. “We have to find shelter,” he said, stabilizing her by gripping her shoulders. Rain dripped off her dark eyebrows onto her cheeks, and ran freely down her face. 

Taethath looked up at Solas, and nodded weakly, confusion dulling her gaze. He couldn’t begrudge her a few moments of bewilderment, but in the weather they couldn’t afford much more. Taethath raised her left hand into his view. It was bare, unmolested by magic or decay. Besides the cold blanching her pale fingertips further, her hand was entirely whole and healthy. “Solas, my hand, the Anchor-” she began, before looking away for a breath. She shivered and palpably tensed under his hands. When she looked back up at him, her grey eyes were as steely as when she had rendered her harshest judgments at Skyhold. “You..!”

“Later, _vhenan_ , I promise, later,” Solas said, punctuating with a firmer grip on her. When she knitted her brow in indignant disbelief and opened her mouth to speak, no doubt irately, he continued. “You are angry.” 

Taethath inhaled sharply, and tried to speak again. “Of course..!”

“You have every right to be angry, but we first must get out of the cold and make fire.” Solas spoke as calmly as he could with the damp making his throat gravelly. He held her gaze, as he knew he could, as long as he did not relent first. 

Despite being impeccably diplomatic, and notoriously hard to read, Taethath’s expression slackened incredulously as she searched his face, no doubt looking for any tell of condescension. Solas felt her carriage relax as looked at him, as she seemingly accepted his sentiment’s authenticity. To her credit, she always did see reason, even in absolutely absurd situations. 

As if the cold had settled into her bones and cooled her ire, as justified as it was, Taethath sighed. “Yes.” She turned out of his grip unceremoniously, and started up the hill, steps sloshing heavily.


	3. Smoke and Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taethath and Solas warm themselves by a fire.

Taethath drew her knees up closer to her chest. Long strands of her hair stuck to her face and naked back, with a foot or so pooling onto the rocky floor. It covered her like a sable cloak, allowing her to maintain some air of modesty despite being devested of her soaked clothing.

They had a fire going, the wet pinewood snapping and popping. It was warm, however, and would dry her and her clothes, which she had hung from a rack made from her staff and the stone wall. 

Solas had chivalrously provided his wolf pelt as a impromptu carpet, which they shared while maintaining a respectable distance. He sat up tall despite the cold, eyes closed in silent thought. 

“I couldn't get the tinder to catch,” Taethath said. “I had to use my flint and steel.”

Solas opened his eyes and turned to look at her. 

“I could call forth a flame, but it wouldn't light. It was like Veilfire, bright and clearly magical, but with no real heat.” Taethath raised an eyebrow and lifted her gaze from the fire.

“The Veil is either so thin here that even I cannot sense it, or...” Solas said.

“But where are the spirits, then?”

“I do not know.” 

“That can’t be what you want,” Taethath said, thinking of Redcliffe, remembering the sickening glow that emanated from the outcroppings of red lyrium. “Demons everywhere-”

“No. There will be none of that corruption,” Solas said, his tone as confident and sharp as it had been before they passed through the eluvian. 

“You don’t know that, Solas. What if you are wrong, as you were before? The Blight exists. The world has changed while you slept, despite your best laid plans. It is not that magical place of which you spoke to me so enthusiastically in Haven.” Although her voice was level, Taethath did nothing to lessen the bite of her words. “Dreamers of all sorts have shaped the Fade. And we have been there, together, you saw what it is, what it has become.” 

Solas looked away.

Taethath paused as the fire crackled before continuing, softer than before. “Even if you are alone, you will remember me, and you will dream of me and what we have shared. And that will change everything, again.” Her even tone made her statement sound more like an explanation of a riddle than what she had intended. 

Solas looked more pained by that than what Taethath was expecting. She stared at his profile for a moment as far-off lightning flickered through the breaks in their evergreen roof. “Not even an hour ago you spoke with regret of destroying a world with value to restore another. But you will never get that world back. An image of it, perhaps, but to you it will never be the same. And you would go so far for an illusion? You will deceive the others, at least for a time, but not yourself.”

Thunder clapped in the distance, loud enough to disrupt the atmosphere. Fatigue hitting her in full force, Taethath couldn’t will herself to say any more. There were too many fallacies, too many erroneous judgments, for a single conversation to correct. 

“We need to sleep,” Solas said, getting up but ducking to avoid hitting his bald head on the low ceiling.

Taethath looked about to try and devise their sleeping arrangements. The wolf pelt wasn’t big enough for both of them, and the cave barely was.

“Lie down, _vhenan_ ," Solas said, adjusting the grey pelt so it was an appropriate distance from the fire to serve as a bedroll. 

Taethath didn’t argue, and lowered herself onto the soft fur. It was more comfortable and warmer than she imagined. Solas lay down behind her, tentatively placing his body against hers in chaste necessity.

Although she was expecting his touch, she gasped and startled. She tense inwardly with so much force her muscles burned, and a twisting ache wrenched in her core. 

Solas sat up as if he was struck himself. “What’s wrong?” As he separated himself from her, Taethath relaxed instantaneously, and her pain dissipated like it had never been there in the first place.

“I--- no, no, it’s fine. It’s all right,” Taethath said, her heart still racing, its pattern not being quite so mutable. “I think I was just surprised. It must be because I am tired. I know you intend nothing untoward.” 

Solas lay back down again, this time barely grazing against her. 

Within a few breaths, drowsiness muddled Taethath’s awareness. As she fell into warmth and darkness, her mind blurred into a deep but diffuse grief and a sense of haunting loneliness.


	4. Bread and Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Taethath find a town, and realize they aren't in Ferelden anymore.

Brown and tan dominated the town as the morning sun peaked out behind the wattle and daub buildings. The streets were still mostly mud from the torrent the night before, but the street merchants were assembling their stalls regardless. Solas had seen many human settlements during his three years awake from the dreaming of uthenera, but this one, despite its modest means, had more character than its limited palate belayed.

Exhausted and hungry, the chatter of the activity scattered his attention. They spoke strangely here; it was not an accent he had heard before. It didn’t sound Ferelden, and it certainly wasn’t Orlesian. Clan Lavellan was from the Free Marches, perhaps Taethath would be familiar with it.

“Taethath,” Solas said, turning to her. She was a few steps behind him, and despite getting some sleep, she looked exhausted. “The accent is here unique. Have you heard it before?” 

Taethath’s brow twitched, and she took a moment to respond, as if he had said something to offend her. “...No. I don’t think so.” 

A tension hung in the air for a few steps. 

“I’m hungry,” Taethath said as they passed a bakery. It was a good one, Solas could smell the butter in the bread. 

Solas was reminded of Val Royeux, and the patisseries there. During his time in the Inquisition, he would stop by every time they visited the colorful city. “Shall we buy something then?” Solas’s tone was a cheerful departure from the mood of the night before. 

Taethath looked at him, her angled brow raised a touch. Her sable braid was disheveled from the rain soaking her hair the night before, stray wisps of it here and there. “Yes, that is the natural progression following from that sort of declaration,” Taethath said, her tone sharp from irritation. She walked in front of him and entered the bakery.

The scent nearly overwhelmed Solas as he crossed the threshold. The oven in the back of the shop radiated a gentle heat that he could feel on his cheeks. 

“1 whole gold for a loaf of bread?” the shopkeeper asked, practically squawking. She was a short, round human woman. “Where is this from?” She held up one of the coins to the window. It glinted in the light.

Solas could see Taethath’s shoulders raise slightly as she debated what to say.

“The Kingdom of Ferelden,” Taethath said, ending with the incredulous rise of a question.

They weren’t in Ferelden, then. 

“I ain’t taking this! The boss’ll have my hide!” The shopkeeper practically lobbed the coin at Taethath. She caught it with a little bit of juggling, and turned around.

Solas guided her out the door with a hand on her shoulder.

“That was…” Taethath began.

“Informative,” Solas said, finishing her sentence for her. 

Taethath stared at him intently, expression neutral. Her grey eyes searched about his armor. “Take this off,” Taethath said, tugging at his wolf pelt sash. “It’ll fetch something. Enough for a meal and a room.” 

Solas felt his jaw open from surprise at her assumptiveness. “What?”

“Off with it, Solas,” Taethath said, rolling her eyes a little at him. “You have to eat, too.”

The wolf pelt was not a necessary part of his ensemble, but much like his jawbone necklace he once wore, he considered it with a blend of sentimentality and symbolism. But, she was right. They both needed to eat, and another night in the cold would do neither of them any good. 

Taethath was already undoing the leather strapping that held the fur securely to his back.

“You do the front,” Taethath said as she finished opening the last buckle.

With a sigh, he relented. When he released it from his belt and slid it off his shoulder, Taethath began to close the leather straps again. “Well, Inquisitor, where are we going to sell this?” 

“There was a furrier about 2 minutes back. Let’s try there first.” 

Solas folded the heavy pelt and followed Taethath. 

It was a sizable store selling all manners of leathers and furs. “How may I help you, m’lady?” the owner asked, standing from behind the counter. He was human, tall and lithe.

“We would like to sell this,” Solas said, offering the pelt to him. “How much can you offer?”

The owner’s lifted the pelt, appraising it. “It is rather large. Nice sheen... How about eight gold?”

“Can you make it ten?” Taethath asked. 

“Ah, m’lady, that is…”

“Nine, then,” Solas said.

The owner hesitated. “...All right. Deal.” He opened a box, which flashed with blueish light upon his touch. He counted out nine coins, and handed them to Solas. 

They felt lighter than the buillion of Orlais and Ferelden, and were tarnished with bronzy residue. “Thank you,” Solas said, giving the money to Taethath. 

“Did you also happen to notice an inn?” Solas asked when they were back on the street. 

“Yes,” Taethath said, pointing across the street. She shook her head, and once the path was clear, she started across the street. 

Taethath was already talking to the innkeeper when Solas entered the inn. It was unremarkable, but was clean. Maids were already bustling about cleaning and carrying linens. Guests from the night before, armored humans and the first elves he had seen in town, were trickling down a large flight of stairs in the back of the main hall. 

The innkeep turned toward the busy hall. “A room for the lady Stone Elf and her friend here,” he called out to no one in particular. When no one responded, he leaned over the bar and waved down the nearest employee, a slight red-headed elvhen woman in a canvas apron. “Dell, we've got the corner suite available, right?”

“Yea, we do. Vacant last night.” Dell’s accent wasn't Dalish either. Her ears were pointed, but the bridge of her nose looked more human than elvhen. 

“Excuse me, young lady,” Solas said as Dell led them up the stairs. “Where are you from?” 

“Me? Born and raised in Trader’s Rest, moved out here a year or so ago looking for work.” Solas had never heard of it, and shook his head when she didn’t clarify where they were. Dell opened the door and ushered them inside. 

Light streamed in freely from round windows on the outer walls. There was a hammered copper tub tucked away far enough from the glass to allow for decent bathing. An expansive bed with a deep green duvet was against the interior wall without the door. 

“You want that tub filled, m’lady?” Dell asked, smiling. She was missing a tooth, but her grin was genuine. 

“After breakfast. Could you bring us something?” Taethath asked, already starting to remove her armor.

“Yea, may be a bit, but I'll be back with it,” Dell said, as she closed the door.


End file.
